September is National Recovery Month, and a great time to remind ourselves that healing isn’t a destination, but a journey. In this light, recovery is a process that often requires reflection. It asks us to look at where we’ve been, what we’ve carried, and what we may need to reclaim in order to keep going.

I'm reminded of the Ghanian philosophy of Sankofa, which suggests that in order to move forward, we have to go back and reclaim what we’ve lost. The literal translation of the word, “Sankofa,” is to retrieve—often depicted by a bird with its head turned backward while moving forward, carrying an egg. Traditionally, the philosophy refers to maintaining awareness of our history. The symbol teaches us that we must acknowledge and learn from past knowledge and experiences in order to reach our potential and create meaningful change.

And it’s in this context that I think Sankofa lends itself well to the journey of recovery. As a therapist, I see part of the core work of therapy as this: retrieving, recovering what feels lost. A lost sense of self. A lost sense of purpose. Diminished passion, a loss control, a quieted voice, a lack of direction...missing wholeness. It's worth noting that the retrieval process isn't always glamorous.

If I had a dollar for every client who expected healing to look like a Hallmark movie, I’d be a wealthy woman. And I wish it were that simple—that the journey toward recovery was soft, cinematic, and flowery, the way TV often makes it seem. But in reality, recovery can be messy. It hurts. Sometimes you feel worse before you start to feel better. You may not get closure in the way you hoped. There’s often no parade, and people may not acknowledge the work you’re putting in. And for that matter, the people around you don’t automatically change just because you do, which can carry its own sting of disappointment.

It might be helpful to think of healing as a lot like removing a deep splinter. The process of pulling it out isn’t pleasant. But leaving it in only makes things worse. Ignore it, and you risk infection. Emotional pain, mental health challenges, and substance use concerns are much the same. Addressing the problem is uncomfortable on the front end, but committing to yourself and seeing it through changes things on the back end. You almost always come out different—and often better.

And that’s the goal of recovery: to end in a healthier place than where you began. Not because you needed to be “fixed”—you were never broken to begin with—but because you chose a more adaptive reality than the one you were living in. Recovery means making subsequent choices that support the life, patterns, and habits you want to establish.

More formally, SAMHSA defines recovery as “a process of change through which individuals improve their health and wellness, live a self-directed life, and strive to reach their full potential.” Notice that nothing in that definition says you have to be “fixed,” symptom-free, or even fully sober. Sobriety may improve health outcomes, but sobriety alone does not equal recovery. Addiction itself is often more a symptom than the root problem. Sobriety can pause the symptom, but recovery works at the deeper level—it addresses the conditions that allowed addiction to take root in the first place.

Because everyone’s trajectory is different, recovery is personal and can take many forms. What tends to be more consistent is the way we move through it. The Transtheoretical Model—or stages of change—offers a framework for that process. Developed by Prochaska, Norcross, and DiClemente, the model helps us understand how people progress through change, and how to support ourselves along the way.

The first stage is usually precontemplation (literally, before contemplation) when the need for change isn’t yet on our radar. We shift to contemplation, when we start to wonder if things could be different and begin gathering information to weigh the decision. Once we confirm our desire to change, we move to preparation, where we (ideally) begin to sketch out a plan. Then action, when we actively start doing the work. After three to six months of action, we move into maintenance, where the focus shifts to holding on to those changes. 

It’s important to note that change is not a linear process, and relapse or returning to the behavior is not failure—it’s part of the cycle. It’s information that helps you adjust and try again.

The goal is progress, not perfection.

Which is why I think Sankofa does such a poignant job of capturing what it means to heal. Recovery often requires us to look back—not to stay stuck in the past, but to retrieve what we lost along the way. Sometimes it’s our sense of direction. Sometimes it’s our hope. And carrying those reclaimed pieces forward is how we keep moving toward wholeness.

This September, as we honor National Recovery Month, I invite you to also Sankofa, and reflect on what “recovery” means for you. What might you need to retrieve? What part of yourself is worth going back for, so you can carry it forward to support who you’re becoming?

With Love,

Dr. Love Jordan